


Vulnerable

by motherstone



Series: Writings [8]
Category: Amulet (Graphic Novels)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, I'm v rusty so yea, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, MA'AM HE WAS ABUSED, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Triggers, Yeah these kids are definitely NOT ok, You Have Been Warned, adults are useless, also I always hated that Karen dismissed Trellis's behavior as a dumb teen phase, also whoops I put too many descriptions, and uhh a bit ooc :/, because Kazu didn't develop them enough, especially Trellis how come he doesn't have severe PTSD from all that, if he's not gonna address that then I WILL, it can be a bit distressing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherstone/pseuds/motherstone
Summary: Emily didn't mean to see the scars.Or where Emily discovers there's much more than the scar on his eye.
Relationships: Emily Hayes & Trellis, Navin Hayes & Trellis
Series: Writings [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/831852
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Vulnerable

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyy I'm back at the writing game once again because my oxytocin depleted itself and I gotta do it, this time with more illustrations (which I'll add later)! Lucky you! 
> 
> Please note that this story is pretty personal, and deals with heavy themes. I'm currently having seasonal depression, because most of the worst months of my life typically happened during summer. Usually by my dad. So in a way, this is a way of expressing it.
> 
> This is by all means, not graphic, but the implications are disturbing. Don't read beyond this point if you don't want to encounter sensitive topics. And there is quite a lot. Be warned.

She hadn't meant to see it.

She's not really the type to intrude on people. Back in the days when she hung out with her old friends, school gossip was always met with an exasperated groan and a roll of her eyes, and then she spends most of the conversation tuning out, only joining in once the subject has changed.

But she's just making excuses now. Vigo had asked her to call for him, and she had obediently followed his request. Emily opened the door without so much as a knock. She expected him to be asleep, curled up on bed.

  
Instead, she met the sight of a mangled, scarred back.

  
He didn't notice her, fortunately, his back facing her and preoccupied in the middle of changing his clothes and soon enough, the scars are covered by the blue shirt he's always been wearing. Emily had managed to catch the gasp in her throat and swiftly yet soundlessly to close the door. It clicks shut.

She can feel her heart pounding, breathing rapid, her horror solidified as a lump in her throat. Every fiber of her being was yelling at her to open the door again, to demand who did this to him but decided against it, her hand still so tightly rounded on the knob that it's nearly white. She's not nosy; she knows where his boundaries lay and she is not cruel to violate it.

But that doesn't make her any less at fault, a heavy feeling setting over her stomach, making it churn. She felt like she trespassed on something she's not meant to see — _something_ that no one is meant to know.

When she feels the knob turn, she jerks back her hand, stiffly composing herself as the door opens to Trellis, whose expression shifts into surprise. Her mind was so jarred with panic that she nearly misses him asking her what she's doing in front of his room.

It was tempting, the worry burrowing itself deep into her mind, to confess, to ask; but she doesn't. Emily decided to do what she always did; suppress everything, and change the words in her mouth into something different.

She tells him she was just about to knock to wake him up, then raising a hand to gesture towards the cabin. "Vigo called for you," she says, and she's surprised by how smoothly the lie rolls off her tongue.

It's may not be the truth, but it's not all lies either. Trellis nods his assent and proceeds, before looking back at her questioningly, and asks if she's not going.

Her hands trembled under her cape. Emily then follows him, ignoring his puzzled look when she didn't answer, and they walk towards Vigo together.

But all that flashes in her mind are the laceration scars, both long and big and small and deep and shallow, littered all over a grey back, painting a hideous, painful figure.

* * *

The image plagued her mind for weeks, refusing to be ignored. There were many instances that she nearly confronted Trellis, wanting to admit the truth or desperately asking for it but she always stopped herself. She doesn't have the right to pry (even though she was every single bit his friend).

It ceased then eventually, as the days between that moment and the now grew wider, and she can easily put it at the back of her mind, taken away by the amiable atmosphere.

But it reminded itself again, one day, that she should have been giving a damn about it.

It wasn't intentional either. Navin swore when the others left, near hysterics and tears himself from sheer guilt, that he never meant to do that to him. Emily believes him, as she tries to assure and comfort him, it's the truth — Navin would never hurt his friends, especially not Trellis — but the damage _still_ happened. And she played a part in that, a bitter taste flooding in her mouth, a deep pang in her chest as her mind rages at her. It came in an unassuming form, the instigator did; none of them could've predict what had happened.

She's read about it once, back in the times she tried to make sense of what she was going through, back when her mind was in a dark, dark place. On how trauma makes you act in unhinged ways, on how sometimes it was caused by a "trigger", and that it makes you feel and see things. That there were times, that the trauma was too ingrained, too horrific, that few people relive through it again. In a small part of herself, for all of the world-ending feelings the loss of her father has brought upon her, is a bit grateful that she doesn't suffer from flashbacks.

Because seeing it firsthand happen to _your_ _friend_ is another trauma in itself entirely.

The day was warm, the sky was a robin's egg blue, and the winds strong but soothing in the heat. The day felt optimistic, bright. It's obvious the effect it had on everyone else, the atmosphere having an air of levity, even some lighthearted jokes and harmless teasing tossed around here and there. 

  
Navin was messing around with a towel, determinedly practicing the old towel flick trick she had taught him. He's rusty, clearly evident the way on how limp the towel is when he flicks it.

(She remembered the times they've rallied against each other, desperately trying to flick the other on the exposed skin, rapidly twisting the towel before snapping the wrist and yelping out an "ow!" whenever they succeed to land a hit and getting welts — which then resulted in their mother confiscating the towels for the week.)

It was fun, ribbing him about it, and Navin took it all in good manner, acting mock disappointed with a few failed tries and genuinely brightening when it finally didn't. Trellis was just walking along, not paying them any heed, his arms preoccupied with books. Navin's gaze met Emily's and he gives a mischievous smile, and an eyebrow raises, amused and intrigued. Just what prank is he planning now?

He snuck up, as silently as possible despite trying to match up with Trellis's pace — which were slow from being distracted — and he winds up the towel, spinning several times. Emily tries to restrain her smile, because goodness, Navin was shooting for a pretty nasty one — albeit, it's probably not going to be that effective, Trellis is fully clothed with little skin exposed — and no doubt that's definitely going to gain Trellis's ire. It spun some more, and Trellis didn't even notice, ignorant to it all when Navin flicked his wrist.

She never realized that things will go horribly wrong until at that moment. She didn't — she should've — stopped Navin once she's guessed the target of that hit. She realized it too late, eyes widening once she completes the trajectory and moved from her spot. Emily was just about to yell at him to stop, but it happened, it still happened, time not even bothering to slow down.

It hit his clothed back with an audible, sharp **_crack_**.

It was unassuming. Trivial. But Emily swore she nearly heard something _break_.

His faces loses all color, eyes wide as his pupils shrinking into pins, jaw dropped in a soundless shock as his arms opens, sending the books tumbling down and out of the railing, falling down to the world below, lost forever. That alone would've horrified Trellis, but instead he collapses on his knees, his hands in front of his head— wrists together — his face overcome with pure, uncharacteristic panic.

Trellis was the most serious one. It's hard to get his expression change aside from frowning, and it remained constant — whether in safety or battle. Calm, cool, composed. Emily has heard him yell, but she never heard him scream. He's hardly broken down by anything, not even when they had lost her. That's why she thinks he never broke in the past.

But now, right _now_ , the question in her head that was demanding itself to be answered ever since that day has heralded itself in a brutal, and cruel flashback. His eyes unnerved her — it was dazed, faraway and locked somewhere dark. Trellis begged them (and she feels sickened when in the past she felt so darkly triumphant, so terribly satisfied to get his surrender) desperately to be let go, words tripping in over themselves, for them to stop when he suddenly cuts himself off with a shriek, back stiffened and curled as if struck. 

He acted as if there was somebody else, as if she and Navin weren't there yelling at him, asking him what's going on, grabbing onto his arms — but his wrists, _his wrists_ are still steadfastly stuck together by some invisible rope — as he dissolved into a frenzy, body jerking at random but frequent intervals, writhing in pain, and giving out sharp cries as unseen blows land on his body.

The commotion quickly got everyone's attention, and they surround them, demanding what happened, what was going on before they abruptly quieted, frozen in shock as they witness Trellis spasm, and she and Navin hold on to him, panicking, not knowing what to do except holding on. He struggled in their arms but he can't seem to get free, his cries getting louder and worse. 

His flashback couldn't have been longer than a few minutes, but it felt like hours being forced to watch Trellis suffer but unable to do anything about it, not when the threat doesn't exist anywhere except in his head. Her stomach churned and her heart nearly at her throat as a painful lump, her mind slewing its own set of invisible abuse — it doesn't eat her away, no — it gnashes and bites at her, tearing her apart with the guilt. She doesn't have all the pieces, but she doesn't need to complete the puzzle to see the whole, harrowing picture of the truth.

Her heart leaps out of her chest when she hears a scream, piercing the air and stabbed her deeply into her gut — the scream sounded horrifically inhuman and agonized and visceral that it scared her, and she goes cold when she realized it came from Trellis. 

It was hard, trying to comfort him, to snap him out of it as he fell into hysterics, screeching as he tries to flinch away from a strike, breathing rapid and labored, nearly turning himself blue from the lack of air. Their words fall unto deaf ears, mind utterly consumed by the flashback. His cries and pleas eventually dissolved into incoherent ramblings, tears spilling from his eyes and down on his cheeks, wailing as his invisible assailants continue to rain their abuse on him, succeed in breaking him into pieces. His wrists never broke apart.

Trellis was in her arms when she heard it. She nearly she didn't, not when she feels like she must carry that burden, not when she let him suffer like this. It was quiet, almost mindless, nobody else could've heard it, when Trellis uttered his resigned pleas to die.

Eventually, his violent tremors slowed, his body jerking into smaller intervals before stopping, then falling limplessly. Nobody spoke, too scarred from the ordeal. The air whipped around them, the cold seeping deep into their bodies. Trellis just trembled in her arms, his limbs and digits twitching erratically, breaking into cold sweat, chest heaving, eyes lidded and red and still crying, mouth moving slightly as drool trickled uninhibited, but she can no longer hear whatever words he said.

The sun, its heat and light feels like beating down on them, and the true blue sky feels so wrong now, an absolutely mockery of the situation that happened. The lightheartedness had gone and packed up. She can't even begin to imagine what it was like to Trellis, who was unintentionally triggered and forced to suffer an attack.

Her head felt detached from the situation itself, staring at him but not really seeing him — mind and body rattled all over. Vigo's words didn't sink in and only snapping back to reality when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. Her shirt and pants had large, darker spots fron wetness. Trellis's eyes has become scarier now, back then it was dazed, now they looked empty, the boy in her arms have all but became hollow. It was like Trellis wasn't there.

"Let me get him Emily," he murmurs silently. The brim of his hat casts a shadow over his eyes but she can see that it's darkened all the same. "He needs to rest. He's been through enough."

When he hooks an arm underneath his knees and his shoulders — Trellis shuddered at the contact, yet didn't make any move to push him away — lifting him up from her hold, Emily didn't protest. The entirety of her being felt numb, her eyes staring at nothing as Vigo takes him away, to his room, Trellis curled up motionless and face wet with drool and tears, exhausted beyond comprehension.

As soon as they left, the rest of the adults piped in, their voices weren't loud, but they were many, all of which were questions. Their presence felt staggering. Yet the words all dissolved into gibberish and scrambled eggs in Emily's mind, so she lets Navin do the talking. Not that she could anyway, not when her tongue felt like cotton.

Navin recounts what happened with shaky words and broken sentences, deeply rattled. Both of them have still not left their places on the floor, kneeling. Emily closed her eyes as she tries to ground herself, feeling them stinging from being open for so long, excess fluid spilling over and trail down her cheek. She could tell he is close to breaking himself, but manages to hold on until the adults are satisfied, and leaves, shooting both of them concerned looks.

And so here she was, dealing with everything alone again, as the adults go on as if there was never a problem that existed. She holds on to Navin, wrapped up in her arms as he tries to calm down, to let all the tears out. Her mind wanders into dark places once more, despairing thoughts manifesting themselves. Everything — _everything_ that had happened to him was downright disturbing. 

She won't let that happen again.

* * *

Vigo had come back hours later, sinking tiredly on the chair. No one needs to hear the story; they've all heard Trellis screaming for him to get out as soon as he woke up. Emily recalls with startlingly clarity on how often that happened back in the days they were unsure if they were enemies or allies, but stuck on the same airship and quest anyway. Emily could easily imagine his face twisted into a snarl, eyes wild, tone harsh, entire body emanating a sense of aggressiveness. 

However, she already knows that everything about that is just an act, all bark and no bite. Kicking Vigo out was an attempt to wrench back control — to have a sense of security by reinforcing that they have control. Her mom had called it a phase back then, the pretentious, grungy phase all teenagers go through at some point. She says the same thing again, with an exasperated sigh.

In the past, she would've agreed, equally scornful of his attitude. But now, it was no longer funny nor anything true. Not when the real reason was nothing to laugh at.

Trellis didn't come out of his room that night. Nor the day after. Their knocks and calls went ignored. He only came during meals, and even then he brings an air of animosity with him, ensuring everyone to keep a considerable distance else they regret it.

It was terse, being in his presence. Whenever he enters the aura changes into something despairing and suffocating, and everyone does their best to ignore it. His eyebrows are set in the familiar, tight curl, mouth set into a thin line and his pupils narrowed into needles, unnervingly piercing. Whenever they try to talk to him, he snaps at them, words curt and harsh. Even Navin, whom he was never cruel or hostile to, got the cold shoulder. Navin looked distressed, but accepted that's probably the nicest Trellis would get.

Everyone else is a bit miffed at the sudden regress in attitude, seemingly forgetting the reasoning behind it — but them, the younger ones just share an understanding, wordless look. 

Emily noticed. They noticed. Whenever Trellis nears their presence, he stiffens, tense. Every movement was calculated and cautious. His entire appearance was rumpled — his hair uncombed and messed, clothes loosely hung on his shoulders. There were dark spots under his eyes, getting darker every day, his pupils flickering from one place to another, as if searching for threats, jumping slightly when somebody suddenly talked too loud. His head was always bowed, as if it took too much energy to raise it.

No one stopped him when he leaves for his room.

* * *

His presence drifts in and out throughout the days. It was easy to ignore if you don't bother to pay attention, becoming only as a nagging feeling. Whenever someone does acknowledge him, they're met with a vicious reprisal. Eventually, they got the hint and left him alone.

The adults murmur scorn among themselves, condemning his attitude, grumbling about his occupance. All that Emily could feel was worry. That incident bore down on Trellis, and it feels like he's becoming more hollow every day. The few things he does say was far too quiet. His eyes looked darker. The white clothing looked too bright and unnatural; he could've been easily be mistaken for a specter..

There were moments she does interact with him, although there was rarely a response on his part. 

One such moment she entered his room (Vigo once again called for him and she knocked, this time) to him whimpering and moaning in his sleep, body twitching and hands grabbing and clawing at the sheets. 

As soon as she saw the fearful grimace, she shakes him in panic and he wakes up with a sharp inhale and a jerk, the glow of his eyes bright in the dark, pupils small. And he stares blankly for a few moments frozen, fearful and stunned before he jerks his gaze anywhere until it lands on her.

It took at least three seconds before his face curls into a snarl, but it didn't feel like there was any power behind it, not when it looks so tired. Unwilling to receive any futher of his ire, she took the chance the explain her purpose, and stood up to leave. 

At the doorway, she looks back, and Trellis had already sit up, curled up, his arms bracing himself. The same blank look had returned. Cautiously, she approached once again, gently sitting by his side — and he jumps slightly from surprise when she leans on him. His shoulders stiffened, and gradually relaxed when she puts an arm across his back. They took their time there, in the dark and quiet, in the few, rare moments Trellis welcomes somebody else's comfort.

The sheets were shredded into strips beneath them.

* * *

Another such instance, she was a bystander once again. Navin had taken up talking to Trellis, and although he doesn't respond, he doesn't push him away either. Just mutely observing him like a statue as Navin weaves a conversation with such liveliness. Lately, he's been regaining a bit of light in his eyes.

Navin later tells her that this is progress.

"It's a start," he say, puffing up with such hopefulness that she feels the corners of her mouth raising. "We'll get through him. Get him out of that place." 

Perhaps they said that too soon.

It continues, this little routine. Navin starting and continuing the conversation as Trellis listens ever so patiently. He always does, even if he doesn't talk back. Eventually, Navin got the breakthrough he was hoping for, coming in the form of a small smile on Trellis's gloomy face after a particularly funny and exciting story.

  
He was so overcame with jubilation, Navin raised a hand to hi-five Trellis. At the sight of it, it's like someone flipped a switch; he quickly paled, the small happiness replaced with fear and he raised his arms in front of him in return.

Navin immediately saw his mistake, his hand darting down by his side, and he approaches him, trying to reassure but Trellis stumbles back a step, before fully turning around and leaves. She's not quite sure what Navin was thinking, but he must have panicked and distressed by the sudden lapse in progress that he grabbed his hand. Trellis head whips around, mouth open in shock.

"Trellis," he gasps, "I'm so sorry—"

" _Don't_ ," he hisses, tone dripping with venom, breathing heavy, " _touch me_."

Navin lets go, stunned. Trellis has the same disbelief on his face, as if startled by what he did himself and quickly resumes to leave, pace rapid. 

She stands in his way, calling him, trying to stall and her jerks his head at her, and she could see his expression; fearful and regret permeates every corner of his features, disgusted at himself. But he then looks away, ignoring her, leaving a remorseful Navin behind. 

They both tried to stop their mother from banging on Trellis's door an hour later, outraged the instant she discovers Navin.

* * *

The latest one was unintentional.

The night terrors have flared up again, driving her awake, making sure to keep her gaze into the ceiling as she tries to ground herself. It seems like this night is no different either, when she gasps a lungful of air. Besides her, Navin snores, loud as ever, and it served as a comforting familiar presence that helps tell her what's real and what isn't.

The sweat rolling off of her was uncomfortable, but she barely noticed it. She reminds herself, like a broken record, that she's here, in the now, not in the Void, not in His clutches, not in _that crash_ —

  
She sits up, rubbing her face. It wasn't helping, lying down, she feels like she's still trapped — perhaps basking in the night air would help. 

  
The cold bites through her as soon as she took a step outside, despite being wrapped up properly, the winds nothing more but an ocean breeze. Soft footfalls padded along the airship's floors, aimless, only to stop when it nears the rear, recognizing a figure sitting in the dark; legs sticking out of the airship, arms crossed on the railing, glowing eyes facing her.

They held each other's gaze for a few moments, unsure how to proceed. Their coats swayed in the wind. Daringly, Emily walked over and sat down next to him, slipping her legs out the same way. If Trellis wanted her to leave, he gives no indication, simply returning his focus to the view in front of him. 

There wasn't a moon in the sky, instead their only source of light was the emergency lights of the Luna Moth. The ocean reflected the black color of the night littered with stars, thus it felt like staring at an endless, monochrome galaxy, the only sign of the divide between sky and ocean is that the lights below moves. 

  
Emily dared a glance at him, and nearly wishes she hadn't; he's gotten worse now, his cheeks a bit more hollowed in, features worn and weighed down, eyes haunted. She instantly knew; she's not the only plagued with night terrors.

  
They spent a long while, staying like that. There was a bubble wrapped around both of them, just enough to touch but neither having the nerve to pop it, to start an inevitable conversation.

Emily inhales sharply, steeling herself and she starts. 

"I—" she finds herself abruptly cut off as her mind blanks. What the hell is she supposed to say? _Hey Trellis, what happened to you was supremely messed up, hope you get better soon!_

But she already has his undivided attention, and for the first time in a while, he doesn't react with hostility. There may be no other opportunity. She forces the words to dislodge from her mouth. 

"Trellis — I —" she breathes deeply, to restart herself. Emily forces herself to look into his eyes. 

"We've been worried," she says softly, and a flicker of surprise flitted across his face. She presses on. "Not just me and Navin. I'm sure the others are too. You do know that right? I mean, I know it's hard to tell sometimes but they _are_.

"Everyone can tell you haven't been ok s-since —" Trellis winced," — since that time, and they're worried, _I'm_ worried. But you don't let anyone come near you or talk to you. Not even us.

"I know it's not our business. I know that whatever that was — whatever had happened _hurted_ you deeply," her mouth thins into a line, recalling the scars, remembering the question in her mind, asking if there are more scars in other places. 

"You don't have to talk any of this if you don't want to," she says, and at the next moment, she just pleads, leaning over to him. "But Trellis, please — _please_ —" she looks at him sadly. "I'm not going to hate you if you do."

But instead of convincing him, his face becomes more tired and sad with every word, until it looks like he's on the verge of tears from sheer distress. He turns away. Disappointed and desolate, she sighed, and she retreats to give him space. She put her head on her arms, chin digging into her skin, a bitter taste in her mouth.

_If you want me to start trusting you, then you need to start trusting me._

Emily blinks.

_And you can begin by telling me about your father._

  
...That could work.

  
"...How about a trade?" She offers softly, and she can see his eyes glance at her.

  
Emily swallows the lump in her throat. It'll hurt, no doubt about that, but it probably couldn't hurt more than it already did. Anything for her friends. Anything for her loved ones. "You don't have to tell much more than I would tell. You could always back out. Just —" she closes her eyes, " — Just, don't think you have to deal with this alone. I won't let you."

She slowly raised a hand.

It was hard not to waver, stewing in silence as Trellis stares at the hand. The only thing she could hear was each other's breathing, the beating of the tides below and the hum of the fluorescent lights above.

A hand gently wraps around hers, and she feels herself release a breath that she didn't realize she was holding.

**Author's Note:**

> OK look it's supposed to be longer than that, but dammit, it's already longer than I intended (like waaaay longer >:( ). So I'll cut it off here. Perhaps I'll just add a chapter at a later date. That part was supposed to detail wtf happened to Trellis (altho, you guys probably got a general idea...)
> 
> Toodles!


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